The Star of Lancaster (11 page)

How noble they were – these Plantagenets, and how similar in looks! There could be no doubt of their origins; they bore themselves – all of them – like Kings.

The Countess was waiting to greet them, with Mary beside her. John of Gaunt took Mary in his arms, when she would have curtsied to him.

‘And how fares my dear daughter?’ he asked. She replied that she was well and trusted he was also.

Her mother looked on with pride as she must to contemplate this brilliant marriage of her daughter’s; and the fact that Mary and Henry so clearly loved each other was great balm to her motherly heart.

Henry was watching Mary with glistening eyes and when he embraced her she sensed the joy in him; so she knew that the waiting would soon be over.

There was an air of festivity at supper that evening as the dishes which had caused such a flurry of activity in the kitchen were set before the honoured guests. In addition to the meats and pies there were dried fruits preserved in sugar – almonds, raisins and fancy marchpane with every delicacy that had ever been thought of.

‘Your daughter grows apace,’ said John of Gaunt to the Countess. ‘And her beauty increases. She is no longer a child. Do you agree?’

The Countess reluctantly admitted that this was so; and then there could no longer be any doubt of the reason for the visit.

Mary and Henry danced together; she played the guitar and he sang with her; and while they watched them the Duke of Lancaster explained to the Countess that he was shortly leaving the country for Castile where he would try to win the crown to which he had a claim through his wife Constanza; he was leaving his son in charge of his estates.

‘He is a man now,’ he added.

The Countess was thoughtful. She did not greatly care for John of Gaunt; he was too formidable for comfort. Moreover she knew how ambitious he was and that he longed for a
crown. He had married Constanza of Castile in the hope of being King of Castile since he could not be King of England, though he did not live with his lawful wife but with his mistress Catherine Swynford. And he had married his son to Mary because of Mary’s fortune.

Now he was telling her that it was time Mary left her mother and became a wife to Henry.

It must be, she saw that.

Meanwhile Henry was explaining to Mary. ‘The waiting is over,’ he said. ‘You are coming away with me.’

She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes; she was overcome with joy.

‘Does that mean you are pleased?’ asked Henry.

She nodded.

‘I am nearly twenty,’ he said. ‘My father says it is time I had a wife. Oh, Mary, the waiting has been so long.’

‘For me, also. I am sorry I was so young.’

That made him laugh.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘When I go from here, you will come with me. My father is going to Castile.’

‘Oh Henry . . . you . . .’

‘No, I am not going with him. There must be someone here to look after the estates. I shall doubtless travel with him to the coast. Perhaps you will come with us, Mary.’

She put her hand in his.

‘Henry, I am so happy,’ she said.

Those were busy days that followed. The great John of Gaunt must be entertained and she must prepare herself to leave with Henry. Her mother watched her with a certain sadness.

‘I am pleased that you are happy in your marriage,’ she said,
‘but sorry that you are going away. If you are ever in need of me, you have but to send word, my child, and I shall be with you.’

Mary said solemnly: ‘Was there any girl more fortunate than I? I have the best husband and the best mother in the world.’

Mary was indeed a wife and it was not long before she was expecting to become a mother. She and Henry had gone to their favourite castle in Monmouthshire and there they had spent a few ecstatic weeks during which Mary had become pregnant. Life was so wonderful if she could but forget that parting could come at any moment. Henry was deeply involved in politics and that meant uneasy living. He did not like his cousin, the King. He called him a fool in private; he said he was futile, riding for disaster.

‘He lost his slipper at his coronation,’ he once said, ‘and if he is not careful, ere long he will lose his throne.’

Mary hated to think how deeply Henry was being embroiled. She could have wished they could have lived quietly in Monmouth Castle happily from day to day.

She was so happy when he played his recorder and she played her guitar and then sang and danced; or when they played chess with the beautiful silver chessmen which were Henry’s father’s gift to them, or they rode together in the forest as they had when they had first met.

But this idyllic existence could not last. Sometimes she thought – but secretly – how happy she could have been had he been the son of a humble squire. She dared not hint of her feelings for the fact that he was the son of his father was one of his proudest boasts.

As the months passed her discomfort increased; it was a difficult pregnancy as it had been with her first child. Henry was a kind and thoughtful husband, but she sensed his restlessness. She could no longer ride with him; she could not dance; and sometimes she was so tired that she could not even concentrate on a game of chess.

She was realising that she had married a very ambitious man. It was hardly to be expected that the son of John of Gaunt would be otherwise, and while he dallied with her in the castle she sensed that his thoughts were far away. The political situation was growing rather tense; when he talked to her about it his eyes glowed and his voice trembled with excitement; she quickly understood that he would rather be at Court than with her; it saddened her and yet she understood. She was only a part of his life; she must not expect him to share her desire for this cosy domesticity; and now, pregnant as she was and often feeling ill, she could not be the lively companion he needed. She must face facts; the idyll was over; it was changing rapidly into sensible marriage. He loved her still but how could she expect the same wholehearted devotion from him which she was prepared to give.

There came a day when his uncle – Mary’s brother-in-law – Thomas of Gloucester came to the castle. Mary was apprehensive about the visit for she knew that Thomas would never forgive her for leaving Pleshy and marrying Henry. Eleanor had been very cool towards her on the few occasions when they had met.

Thomas however greeted her with a brotherly affection and when she asked after Eleanor he said she was well and so were the children. Eleanor now had a son and that seemed to have given her and her husband a great deal of pleasure. He had
been named Humphrey which was a favourite name in the de Bohun family.

The boy was strong and healthy, Thomas told her with pride and he trusted she would honour them with a visit.

This was offering the olive branch without doubt and having learned something of her brother-in-law’s nature when she was living at Pleshy, Mary thought that it could only mean that he had some project in mind which had made the loss of half of the de Bohun fortune seem less significant than it once had.

He and Henry spent a great deal of time alone together and she became apprehensive for she was aware of the excitement these talks had engendered in her husband.

When they were alone that night she ventured to ask him what Thomas’s motive was in visiting them.

At first he had been disinclined to tell her, which was hurtful.

‘He is my uncle,’ he said, ‘and now my father is away no doubt he feels he must keep an eye on me. He was riding this way so naturally he would call on us. Moreover he is your brother-in-law. I dare swear Eleanor wants news of you.’

‘Why, Henry,’ she replied, ‘your uncle has not been very pleasant with your father and that means with you, since you were given the Garter in place of him and since you married me when he and my sister wanted me to go into a convent so that my part of the family inheritance should go to them, it is hardly likely that they feel much affection for us.’

Then he decided to tell her. ‘That is in the past,’ he said. ‘They were petty differences. I can tell you that something of the utmost importance is afoot.’

Her heart seemed to miss a beat. ‘What is it, Henry?’

‘You know that for some time the King’s behaviour has not pleased certain men in the country. His besotted attitude towards de Vere gives great offence. That man is a menace to the peace of the country. He plotted against my father. It is time the King learned that there are men in this country who will endure this state of affairs no longer.’

She said faintly: ‘And you are one of those who stand against him?’

‘I am in good company,’ he replied.

‘Who else?’ she asked faintly.

‘My uncle Gloucester, Arundel, Nottingham and Warwick.’

‘Five of you then.’

‘We are the leaders and we are well supported.’

‘Oh, Henry, I am afraid of these quarrels. You could find yourself in danger.’

‘My dear little Mary, these are matters which you do not understand. We have to rid the country of those men who are ruining it.’

‘You mean . . . the King.’

‘The King if need be.’

‘But he is the true heir to the throne. The son of the Black Prince . . . ’

‘Unfortunately yes,’ said Henry with a note of anger in his voice and she knew that he was thinking: Why was my father not the King’s eldest son?

‘Henry, don’t do it . . .’

He laughed at her and stroked her hair.

‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ he said. He touched her stomach lightly. ‘You have other matters to think of.’

‘It
is
my concern what becomes of you,’ she answered.

‘Have no fear then. Richard is weak. He is a fool. He
resembles his great-grandfather.
He
lost his throne . . .’

She shuddered. ‘And his life . . . most barbarically.’

‘Richard should remember that.’

She turned to him and hid her face against him. She knew it was no use protesting, no use trying to persuade him. He was an ambitious man; and though neither of them mentioned this, he was fascinated by a golden crown.

She wanted to shout to him: ‘It can never be yours. It is Richard’s by right. Richard may have a son.’ Oh God, send Richard a son. That would put an end to these wild ambitious dreams. But even if Richard did not have a son, there were others before John of Gaunt. There was ’s daughter Philippa to come before him for there was no Salic law in England and women could inherit the throne. If Richard were ever deposed and John of Gaunt took the crown then his heir was Henry. Henry could not forget it, remote possibility though it was. It was like a canker in his mind; he was becoming more and more obsessed by it and it frightened her.

Now he was joining with those four other ambitious men to stand against the King. They wanted Richard out of the way, and Richard was the rightful King.

‘Now,’ said Henry, ‘you distress yourself. We shall show Richard that he must rule for the benefit of the people not for that of his favourites. If he is wise, he’ll see that; if not, well then he should go.’

‘There will be war,’ she said.

‘Nay,’ he corrected her. ‘Richard would never fight. He would give way. There is no fighting spirit in him. Sometimes I wonder whether he is the son of his father. His mother was a flighty woman. She lived with Holland before she married him, you know.’

‘Oh, Henry have a care. What if some servant overheard!’

‘My little Mary, you are too nervous. It is your state. Never mind. Very soon we shall have our boy, eh?’

‘And when shall you leave with your uncle?’

‘Tomorrow. There is little time to lose.’

‘And when shall you come back?’

‘So much depends on Richard,’ he said. ‘But I shall see you are safe and well looked after. That is why I chose Monmouth for you. It is a little remote. You can forget everything here but the coming baby.’

‘Do you think I should ever forget you, Henry?’

‘I trust not, my love. But you are my wife and you must obey me. My commands are that you should rest quietly, be at peace, not fret, and in due course you will be delivered of our child.’

‘You set me impossible tasks,’ she replied. ‘How can I rest quietly while I know you are involved in plots against the King.’

‘Not against the King, my love.
For
the King. Everything we do shall be for his good . . . if he is wise enough to realise it.’

There was nothing more she could say. She must accept the fact that she was married to a very ambitious man who could see the crown glittering only a few steps away and if it seemed unlikely that he could ever take those steps, he was optimistic and determined to lose no opportunity which might arise.

The next day he left with his uncle Thomas.